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Updated: May 9, 2025
But when his wrath had endur'd to the twelfth resurrection of morning, Back to Olympus return'd over ocean the blessed Immortals, All the attendance of Zeus: nor had then the command of Peleides Pass'd from the mind of his mother, but rising anon from the sea-wave, She, at the dawning of day, to the great heaven went and Olympus.
Ancient of days, august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were. First in the race that led to glory's goal, They won, and pass'd away: is this the whole A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour?
The boy pass'd slowly on, and with a sigh He wish'd he never had been taught to read, Then of the old churl's books he should have had no need. Of sufferings the poor have many, Which never can the rich annoy: I soon perceiv'd another boy, Who look'd as if he'd not had any Food, for that day at least enjoy The sight of cold meat in a tavern larder.
And I taking it up not without a Tear duly paid to him wich from the Study of this poorer Adumbration was now pass'd to the contemplation of its great Originall it came into my Thoughts, as at such moments of Helplessness we are prone to catch at any the least Glimmer that makes promise of Light, to make trial of that old and by many accounted Superstitious Practice of drawing the Sortes; of which a Principall Instance, in the case of his late Sacred Majesty the Blessed Martyr King Charles and my Lord Falkland, was now much talked of.
"O friendly to the best pursuits of man, Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, Domestic life, in rural leisure pass'd! Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse The growing seeds of wisdom, that suggest By every pleasing image they present, Reflections, such as meliorate the heart, Compose the passions, and exalt the mind."
Let us hope there is a life beyond the grave. "The old poet, Omar, argues against a future life. You will recall these lines: "'Strange, is it not, that of the multitudes who Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us of the Road, Which to discover we must travel, too."
Then its continuance: a full hour pass'd before the last of those earth-ends disappear'd. The sky behind was all spread in translucent blue, with many little white clouds and edges. To these a sunset, filling, dominating the esthetic and soul senses, sumptuously, tenderly, full.
A while of weakness followed. My brain reel'd: my fingers dug into the rock behind till they bled. I bent forward forward over the heaving mist through which the sea crawl'd like a snake. It beckon'd me down, that crawling water.... I stiffened my knees and the faintness pass'd. I must not look down again. It flashed on me that Delia had call'd me weak: and I hardened my heart to fight it out.
About 4 in the Afternoon, we pass'd over a large Ciprus run in a small Canoe; the French Doctor sent his Negro to guide us over the Head of a large Swamp; so we got that Night to Mons. Galliar's the elder, who lives in a very curious contriv'd House, built of Brick and Stone, which is gotten near that Place.
Thou emblem of a tyrant's sway, Thy triple hues are dyed in gore; Like his, thy power has pass'd away Like his, thy short-lived triumph's o'er. Ay! Let the trampled despot's fate Forewarn the rash, misguided band To sue for mercy, ere too late, Nor scatter ruin o'er the land.
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